On 11 November 2008 the last surviving veterans of the First World War approached the Cenotaph to lay their wreaths at its base. These three men, Harry Patch, Henry Allingham and Bill Stone, represented each of the services which 90 years earlier, to the hour, reached the end of the most destructive conflict Europe had ever seen. Unknown at the time, this would be the very last time all three services would be represented by Great War veterans at a Remembrance Day ceremony.1 The flurry of media activity sparked by that event reinforced Britain’s enduring obsession with the First World War. Its emotional impact continues to haunt the country who nearly a century later still celebrates the heroism and self-sacrifice of the men who fought it.
The presence of these three men at the Cenotaph also emphasized the centrality of the Great War experience in their own lives, which after 90 years still drew them to honour the men who had died. The effect of the First World War on the men who fought was profound and complex. Some never spoke of it to their families, whilst others spent the remainder of their lives writing and rewriting their experiences, searching for meaning. Whether they felt the period had been good or bad, and there was certainly no common experience, the effect of war upon the men of all services was significant. Each man’s response to war was contingent on many factors. Much would depend on his service, his rank, the geographical area(s) in which he fought, his age, beliefs and attitude, whether he was volunteer or conscript, his civilian work and family, his education and previous experience and a multitude of other factors relating to his personality and approach. All these elements combined to form the individual’s war experience and the only thing that is clear is that for the ‘famous authors and the ordinary man who returned to his ordinary civilian life, it was a life of remembrance’.2 H. H. Balfour exemplified this notion in the preface to his 1933 memoir:
The main background and the foundations of life for those of my age, must be the War years. We graduated from boyhood to manhood between 1914 and 1918, and in spite of the passage of time, we cannot help but judge the events of life in the light of the standards ingrained into us by the high spots of life and the depths of resignation to its surrender which were the extremes of those days.3
Yet it was not a life of regret. Most men felt it was their duty to participate, and they had sustained some form of motivation throughout the conflict.
This was first a product of the training men received. In both the Royal Navy and Royal Flying Corps, combatants were taught to form strong bonds of loyalty within the service. The navy called upon its illustrious history, whilst the Flying Corps emphasized its youth and freedom to carve out a position. Throughout the conflict, in the diaries and letters of combatants, men repeatedly referred to the glories of their service and the duty they performed. Alan Bott, in his wartime memoir, was keen to predict a significant future for the RFC when ‘hostilities in the air will become as decisive as hostilities on land or sea’.4 That continued belief in the purpose of the air war was very important in sustaining the airman. Not only did Bott believe Britain would win, but his fledgling air service had proven its vitality. As W. T. Blake noted, that thought was of a ‘great deal more importance thousands of feet above the earth than actually on it, and it is the superior moral {sic} of our Air Service that continually gives us the victory.’5 This dedication to the RFC created a contract of honour that bound men to fight, whatever the consequences. There was also genuine enthusiasm to be at war and those like Lieutenant Colonel Wikinson ‘were excessively proud of being included in the squadron, and exceedingly anxious that it should not fail in its mission.’6 Almost from the first moment of putting on the uniform, men felt part of the overarching body of the Royal Flying Corps and began to develop strong loyalties to their service.
That loyalty was mutually rewarding and men took responsibility for their role in the conflict. Because the airman was able to earn his place in the war machine, through his intelligence work above the German trenches and by developing methods for the offensive protection of the British lines, the pride created within the Royal Flying Corps was quite different to that of other services. It reinforced the bond between the service and its personnel. Men were proud to be part of a new and dynamic corps and, in return, they were entrusted with developing the machinery and techniques to ensure that it would become a permanent aspect of Britain’s armoury.
By contrast, the dedication of Royal Naval personnel was allied with its tradition and history. Many of the men who fought in the First World War had learned naval customs and traditions during their teenage years, undergoing six years of training and inculcation. Their affection for the service emphasized previous victories and famous heroes, which trainee sailors hoped to emulate. At the start of the war, the navy was held high in the public esteem and it was this affection that drew recruits. The training sailors received looked to the glories of the past and to the example of heroes to guide them in times of difficulty. A training guide for officers, written by H. W. Richmond, stressed, even as late as 1933, that theorising was not sufficient and it was ‘the shabbiest insult to the hero’s memory if no effort is made to master and to apply the lessons, which the careers of Nelson and his like furnish’.7 The reputation of the Royal Navy rested in the creation of memorable battles to maintain their place in public affection and this led to high expectations from its sailors.
Sailors felt privileged to be part of the navy and this was essential to maintaining motivation when conflict left them with an unexpectedly minor role. Sailors patrolled for weeks and, without the climactic sea battle that many had expected, they did not feel they had made a notable contribution to ending the war. Sustaining momentum in these times was difficult and men looked to their service to support them. ‘The really great strength of the Royal Navy ... had been its supreme self-confidence,’ Official Historian Arthur Marder explained, leading to ‘an innate conviction of invincibility ... its espirit de corps and strong sense of professional pride.’ The success of the navy in the Great War was not in winning a battle based on matériel, but in overwhelming the High Seas Fleet, so that it could not chance a full-scale encounter. It was, Marder continued, the spirit of the Royal Navy that gave it the ‘priceless power of initiative, improvisation, and, above all, confidence’.8 It was this certainty that allowed individuals to sustain momentum throughout the conflict, drawing support from a shared service unity. The key motivational factor for both the RFC and navy was, therefore, the sense of exclusivity that allowed them to feel they were part of a specialized group, contributing to the war in ways that few others had the opportunity to do.
The privilege of fighting as a pilot or sailor was common to both services and, despite their operational and combative differences, connects them. All the other factors of war, men’s response to training, to fighting, to technology and to its memory, hinge on this one unifying element. This shared sense of privilege encouraged in training and through the allegiances of the squadron or ship created a group identity for fighting. For the airmen of the Royal Flying Corps, the squadron entity became increasingly important, and thereby more exclusive, when formation flying was used to protect intelligence flights over the German lines. Even before this, pilots relied on shared amusements and the entertainments available at their base to distract them from the toils of war. These were privileges unshared by other services. Quartermaster Frank Haylett wrote from his camp at Salisbury Plain to assure his family that he was ‘making & finding friends – as I told you before many of the RFC men have their own cars ... . Well I have “chummed up” with one with a car & I tell you we go it strong.’ That many of the squadron had cars at this time, and were able to use them at their camp for recreation, was a privilege awarded only to pilots. Even regimental concerts in which the men participated were described in terms of exclusivity, emphasizing the professional-level talents of the men involved. These occasions, as Haylett recalled, were ‘awfully good – there are many professionals among our Corps & the “turns” we get are as good as a top London Hall.’ His camp was fortunate to contain ‘a cornet soloist with 11 gold medals & also a pianist who has played at the Queen’s Hall.’9 Such opportunities were essential to create a sense of community to which all men would turn in combat. Fostering genuine affection for one another in leisure times ensured men would be disposed to fight harder for one other in battle.
The navy was also motivated by its sense of exclusivity but it utilized its history and hierarchy to promote loyalty amongst the men of the Royal Navy. Sailors also formed genuine bonds with the men on their ship. It was this loyalty, described by E. F. Knight as ‘old-fashioned patriotism’ embodied in the routines and customs of centuries, with which all men identified.10 This was no less effective than the methods of the RFC, and it created an extremely strong devotion to service that lasted throughout the war. The Navy’s very existence was based on a sense of honour that each man should have towards his fellows. Although there were informal opportunities to form close friendships and spend leisure time together, each man had an overarching duty to the ship, to sublimate the self for the greater purpose. It was this common goal that maintained his loyalty. Stephen Hall emphasized the exclusivity which the men of the navy felt; being ‘one company’ suggests the unity of a small group of men, lucky enough to have fought together.11
The privilege of fighting together meant that many combatants enjoyed the experience of war, and for historians this has been one of the most controversial aspects of the historiography. Since the 1960s the horrific experience of the soldier in the trenches has dominated the collective memory of the First World War and ascribed to them a victimhood that absolved them of responsibility for the war. Yet for many men, their time at war was an enjoyable experience, allowing them to fulfil what many saw as a test of their manliness. Pilots in particular have written enthusiastically about the war. ‘You must know,’ Frank Haylett wrote, ‘that I have really striven hard to bring a little lustre to our modest home in this war ... . Personally I am feeling very fit + well + probably looking younger & less worried than when I joined up.’12 Although men often spoke optimistically to buoy up their relatives, Haylett evidently felt the war was having a beneficial effect on his health and was proud to be doing his duty in the RFC. Amongst pilots there was an enjoyment of conflict because it offered freedom, honour and a chance for each man to embody the expectations of the RFC.
As the last chapter has shown, even many years later pilots continued to feel that they had an inimitable experience. It ‘was a wonderful life we pilots led’, William Fry insisted 60 years later.13 H. H. Balfour, having eloquently defended the brilliance of character shown by his fellow pilots, confirmed that he ‘left the Royal Air Service with no regrets’.14 The experience of life in the Royal Flying Corps was such that men continued to speak positively about it for much of their lives. ‘If only you realized the feeling of optimism that infuses us & the French,’ pilot Philip Joubert de la Ferte wrote encouragingly to his mother, ‘you would not all be in the dumps, the way you have been the last three months.’15 The only reason for Joubert de la Ferte’s enthusiasm was that men enjoyed the experience. This is in contrast to some soldiers in the inter-war period who began to question their participation. Much has been made in writings on the First World War of the helplessness of men faced with little means of preventing disaster, yet the pilots of the Great War, like Arthur Gould Lee, wrote ‘that the daily risk of a violent end was accepted unconcernedly’.16 Motivation was maintained because war was worth enduring.
By contrast, sailors had less to enjoy. The experience of this war was unusual because it involved so little naval fighting. Yet the chance to be in the navy was worth the unexciting conditions. The disappointment recorded by sailors at the Armistice is indicative of the dedication they felt to their service and the continued enjoyment of their role. ‘Despite the war-weariness, Grand Fleet morale remained extraordinarily high during 1918,’ Official Historian Arthur Marder explained. Sailors were disappointed not to have played a decisive role in victory and, as the last chapter has shown, some reflected critically on their war experience. Yet this was not suggestive of poor morale but of an eagerness to fulfil their service aspirations. They remained loyal to the navy and wanted to be a significant part of winning the war. Douglas King-Harman’s long account of the Battle of Jutland, which he sent with a letter to his parents in 1916, described in great detail the moment when ‘the fleet drew out into line, more and more of them came into action, till about 7 pm when the whole line was engaged – an extraordinary and wonderful sight.’17 His evident pride and excitement at being part of these significant events was clearly an important experience for King-Harman and one that his role in the navy had supplied. Although the sea war was rarely livened by such battles, the enthusiasm of the men for the task was unfaltering. King-Harman insisted, ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else except here for anything.’18 Being part of the war was essential and, for many men, that task was made enjoyable by being a part of the navy and having the rare chance to fulfil the honourable expectations of duty to which many had held.
The sense of exclusivity also filtered into combatants’ attitudes to their weaponry. The aeroplane, for example, was central to the personal involvement of airmen in the developments and direction of war. Consequently, they were very attached to and proudly responsible for their craft. ‘Our aeroplanes are absolutely it in this district and you would have loved to see them gambling {sic} about over the Lines,’ H. G. Downing enthusiastically noted; they were ‘absolutely indifferent to the Archies & about dusk you see a white light fired from one of the machines & then the air is full of them fooling about like a lot of school boys diving at haystacks or skimming houses. Some sport!’19 The aeroplane was simultaneously their carriage, their protection and their weapon. Often personally adapted to improve performance, it was the most important asset they possessed and consequently men like Downing would strive to improve their machine and retain their aerial superiority.
As the discussion of technology has demonstrated, this personal involvement in the development of machinery was central to the evolution of the Flying Corps. Many of the key initiatives were pilot-led and it was this freedom to control the process of war that added to their feelings of exclusivity. As the war progressed and the value of aerial strategy became accepted, the demand for machinery both in terms of numbers and specification correspondingly increased. New aeroplanes with greater climbing rates, speeds and abilities were constantly challenging pilots and they had significant input into the means to counter and exceed them. This level of involvement was peculiar to the airforce, made possible by the more relaxed hierarchical structure. With no defined place in the combat system in 1914, the men of the Flying Corps had to create one, and in doing so initiated some of the most important features of twentieth-century aviation.
Sailors also took great pride in the physical superiority of the navy over the corresponding German fleet and were therefore motivated by technological prowess to some degree. Historian Jan Rueger has explained that the resources of the navy provoked ‘admiration and curiosity. The battleships of the Dreadnought era were icons of the rationality and efficiency of the machine age.’20 The men of the Royal Navy agreed that they were lucky to hold the advantage at the start of war. Captain C. de Burgh of HMS Antrim was ‘very pleased & full of confidence’ in August 191421 and it did not take Frederick Allen long to learn that ‘H. M. ships were built primarily for fighting, comfort did not enter into it’.22 Much of this confidence was based on the greater resources of the Royal Navy, which throughout the war assured sailors of certain victory. ‘Even more decisive than the high standards of British seamanship,’ Marder argued, was ‘the relative numerical strength of the two navies and the confidence of the British officers in their superiority.’23 They were certain that when the long-awaited fight came they were in a privileged position and would be able to overwhelm the enemy and achieve the war-ending final victory they desired.
The exclusivity of the airman extended into his attitude to the enemy and to death. Pilots were able to communicate with their opponents, even when not in combat. Francis ‘Bert’ Pattenden described one such occasion in February 1916:
Anyhow the German aviators are absolute sports and are plucky enough. If one of our machines is brought down by them they will come over during the next few days in a machine and drop a note (if possible in the pilot’s squadrons’ vicinity) saying whether he is alright or if wounded or killed. I reckon that shows rather a decent spirit.24
The British, he continued, extend the same courtesy to the Germans and had developed small canvas bags with various coloured streamers attached. Sometimes this news could revive a concerned squadron and was a vital motivator. Pilots often dropped notes to each other to assure the opposing squadron that their captured man was well, and to request any essentials he needed to ensure his comfort. One squadron member dropped a ‘toothbrush, razor, some clothes and all soap we could lay our hands on ... . Dropped package, circled again and dropped second package of cigarettes for German squadron.’25 The friendly relations between the two services did not deter either from their task but made the experience of war more human and reasonable for both sides. As the last chapter suggested, men constructed for themselves a notion of knightly duty and felt they were fulfilling notions of honourable combat. Sharing information on the fate of pilots was just the decent thing to do, and for the RFC was an essential part of their exclusive bond. Unlike the other services, pilots were able to retain their humanity and individuality during the conflict, aided by these gestures towards their enemies.
Sailors had far less involvement in individual deaths and did not, on the whole, reflect on the humanity of their enemy. References to the opposition spoke of the High Seas Fleet as a homogenous body, not of particular captains or people. This is because the men of the navy spoke of themselves as ‘the navy’, subsuming their own individuality into the whole. Lionel Dawson mused on that idea in his 1933 memoir, realising that ‘anything outside the Service was of little importance, and that time employed on matters unconnected with it wasted.’26 So confident of certain victory were the sailors of certain victory that their attitude towards the enemy was primarily one of contempt. Most discussions of the enemy concentrated on the German failure to leave their bases and face a decisive fight. Paul Nesham writing about the Battle of Jutland in 1916 recorded ‘the Huns obviously got cold feet when they are fired at – or else they have no ammunition left – & don’t seem to have the guts either. And the opinion seems to be that they would not come out again in a hurry.’27 The contempt Nesham shows for the enemy is clear and using the terms ‘Huns’ and ‘they’ suggests he did not think of them as human. The reasons for this lie in the nature of Royal Naval experience. Many of the men who staffed the navy in this conflict were long-serving and used to battle conditions. The routines of the naval day were designed to keep men in permanent readiness to fight.
The elements of motivation were various and personal, but ultimately to sustain their commitment to war men had to feel that it was worth enduring. For the Royal Flying Corps the process of war was invigorating. What began as a very minor role supporting the army evolved into a permanent and essential service, which the pilots of the RFC fundamentally created. Even more important for the airman was his tangible contribution to the war and enthusiasm for the sensation of flight. Aviation was a cutting-edge science and pilots developed key technologies and affected strategy. This ensured that flight continued to fascinate. ‘The sensation during a flight in the air is one of exhilaration and complete confidence in the result’, W. T. Blake insisted and it was this allure that motivated men to keep flying.28 It was an exciting time to be an airman, and whilst men like Carroll Dana Winslow explained that flying was ‘far more dangerous than fighting in the trenches, yet there are many who have preferred the extra risk ... . I believe there is at present a waiting list of over six thousand men.’29 This enjoyment of flying and that sense of exclusivity galvanized pilots who appreciated their privileged position as members of the newest service.
Feeling exclusive allowed a pilot to detach himself from the rest of the war, letting him perform the multiple roles of comrade, killer and combatant. H. H. Balfour described using it to cope with his time in the air:
This period was one in which I first realised the full terror of aerial combat, but at the same time learnt in some way to cultivate detachment of mind which enabled one, not to overcome fear but to separate oneself from it ... but once in the fight one became impersonal: some secondary person did the right thing at the right moment.30
The war comprised a series of tasks to be achieved each day and, when it was broken down in this way, men had neither the time nor the inclination to consider the wider perspective. In the meantime, each man had a role to perform: to support his colleagues and to achieve the daily objectives of his Squadron. Almost nothing, L. A. Strange recalled, could distract men from their task even though after ‘a long day’s flying you feel you have had enough and don’t even want to go up again, but after a day’s rest you are as keen as ever.’31 This depersonalization of task, of dislocation with the larger war experience, kept men fighting. It was this ability to endure, to maintain enthusiasm for their role as an elite service, that ensured the Royal Flying Corps became the most successful service in the Great War, and earned its permanence as the Royal Air Force.
The sailors of the Royal Navy also focused on their exclusivity to maintain motivation. Like the Flying Corps, the naval role in the Great War was not the one foreseen at the outset. Nonetheless it was a difficult task, more akin to the weeks of waiting and watching experienced in the trenches than the warfare sailors aspired to. The stalemate of the sea war meant that seamen had to rely more heavily on their service culture than before, so strict hierarchy and discipline were fundamental in supporting the naval officer in this new role. They had been trained to act in battle, but were at a loss when the enemy failed to engage. More than ever, men were dependent on their sense of duty to Britain and to the service to help them endure. These men were always ‘navy first’, and devoted themselves to upholding its values.
Although the navy suffered in terms of public acclaim, they overwhelmed the High Seas Fleet and prevented a German victory. It was not the glamorous and decisive victory sailors had expected, but it was a confident one. Many of the officers had served in the navy for many years, experiencing life at war and during peacetime, and were used to the regulations and trials of spending weeks at sea. For younger men, the years of naval training had prepared them for the nature of the work they would undertake. Consequently, the navy was better prepared for war than the other services because they were both more familiar with the men and ships they would be fighting in, and had a greater professional culture to draw upon for support. That sense of loyalty, the honour of the premier service and their patriotic duty to Britain, motivated and sustained the sailors of the Royal Navy.
The Contribution of the RFC and Navy to Great War Studies
In 1918, there were 265,000 men in the Royal Air Force and 415,000 men in the Royal Navy. Each played a vital role in Britain’s victory in the Great War yet their experiences have largely been forgotten. For Henry Allingham and Bill Stone, recent media acclaim celebrated their longevity and importance as the last survivors of this conflict. But as they approached the Cenotaph to lay their wreaths in November 2008, few understood or even recognized what their contribution to the war had been. There has never been a comprehensive academic study of the airman or sailor in the Great War, and for the three-quarters of a million men who served in the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Navy, their history has never been written.
Since the 1960s, when oral history interviews reawakened Britain’s interest in the First World War, historians and the public have been fascinated by soldiers’ lives. The dark experience of the trenches has permeated British culture from novels to films to comedy shows, and continues to have a strong emotional resonance. At remembrance ceremonies across the country it is the poetry of soldiers that is frequently quoted, and when the work of Owen and Sassoon became a staple of classroom teaching, the prevalence of the soldier experience became embedded in the national consciousness. Simultaneously, many significant historians have deepened our understanding of soldier experiences, refuting the notions of mass disillusionment and slaughter that have dominated the national memory. More recently the motivation of soldiers has been examined, especially in reference to notions of masculinity and killing; thus our understanding of every element of soldiers’ lives and contributions is comprehensive. In many ways the understanding of soldier motivation has come full circle. Whilst historians have rejected ideas of disillusionment there has been a revival in ascribed ideas of honour and duty, which soldier’s professed in their own diaries and letters. The next step is to extend that understanding to the pilots and sailors of the Great War, to grasp Britain’s full involvement in and approach to this conflict.
The combat experience for the navy and the airforce were very different to each other and to the army. Historians have largely dismissed both contributions to Britain’s eventual success in the Great War. Yet the pilots, sailors and even soldiers of the war, as well as many contemporaries, celebrated the value of all services in the years immediately following the Armistice. The cult of the airman that was created in the 1920s, discussed in the last chapter, and the continuing political power of the Admiralty were evident. Historians have often looked backwards from the perspective of the 1939–1945 war, viewing aerial encounters, in particular, as merely setting a precedent for the Battle of Britain. This perspective is quite flawed and discounts not only the work of all services in creating victory but also dismissed the views of contemporaries who celebrated the power of the navy and the excitement of the airforce. Histories of the RFC and Royal Navy have been written as records of strategy and technology. This book has utilized many of the techniques that are now commonplace in writing about soldiers’ lives and applied them to the equally valuable role of pilots and sailors. By putting the human element back into the understanding of these services, it has explored the full war experience of these men and how they continued to motivate themselves and their colleagues to fight.
The contribution of the Royal Flying Corps to the Great War was manifold. Without it, the British army would have had far less intelligence on the German trench systems and, vitally, on the ranging of the artillery. Without the RFC and its hard-won aerial superiority on the Western Front, German pilots would have been frequent visitors over the British lines and this would have had a detrimental effect on the morale of the British army. Similarly without the RFC, German Zeppelins and Gothas would have had free reign over England to drop their bombs on the civilian population. The RFC made a substantial contribution to the technological, scientific and strategic growth of Britain in the Great War. Aviation was at the cutting edge of science at that time and in competition with Germany, the Royal Flying Corps was able to drive development of aeroplanes and the aircraft industry. The enthusiasm for flight, demonstrated by the young pilots, ensured that almost all potential avenues for aviation were explored; there have been few new uses for aeroplanes, only refinements on the pioneering work of 1914–1918. Photography, mapmaking, intelligence patrols, dogfighting, bombing, agent dropping and the first inklings of civilian transport were all successfully conceived in this conflict and developed by the men who flew. The pilots of the Great War were the reason that aviation was accepted by the military elite, and they were rewarded by becoming Britain’s permanent third service, the Royal Air Force.
The Royal Navy has also been assigned an anonymous role in the Great War, but without it the High Seas Fleet would have been free to control the North Sea and English Channel. Potentially, this would have meant attacks on the British coastlines as experienced by Hartlepool and Scarborough in December 1914 that would have undermined civilian morale. There would have been attacks on troop transports to and from France, and the German navy would have had access to the Atlantic where Britain’s own supply ships were vulnerable. The very presence of the Royal Navy was sufficient to prevent the German fleet from leaving port and this made co-ordinating Britain’s war effort immeasurably easier. Although the navy’s role was largely defensive, the effect of the German blockade cannot be overestimated. By restricting supplies of food and materials, the Royal Navy ensured that Germany could not continue to fight the war on any front and ceded defeat in 1918.
By examining the lives of all the men who fought in the Great War we come closer to understanding why this conflict has dominated British culture for almost a century. It was a war fought on many fronts and in many countries, utilizing all the resources of the British Empire. The most important resource of all were the men themselves, who came forward in their millions to be part of the conflict. They fought on land, sea and in the sky because they felt it was their duty to do so. Understanding why men chose to participate and how they maintained belief in a British victory, whatever service they joined, is vital. Returning the men of the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Navy to studies of the Great War means Britain has a complete understanding of its first total war, and the consequences of conflict in the twentieth century. Most importantly, it allows us to finally understand the debt we owe to Henry Allingham, Harry Patch and Bill Stone, the last survivors of the Great War.